Samwise's Tale - The Witch's Promise
by endalust
Summary: Samwise Gamgee's peaceful rest in the Undying Lands is interrupted by a devastating new enemy. Chapter 13 now posted...please read and review!
1. The First Attack

DISCLAIMER: Don't got it.   
A/N: Here you are! The real sequel to "Samwise's Tale"! I advise you to read that first if you haven't already, because many of the places and characters are the same. Otherwise, enjoy, and please review! Thank you!   


**************** 

Elanor's eyes opened as the early morning sun filtered red through her eyelids. The air was warm, even for June, and she threw the covers away to let in a cool breeze from her open window. The delicious scent of flowers drifted in upon the breeze, permeating every inch of the room and refreshing Elanor even though her sleep had been long and restful. All in all, a beautiful start to her day.   
  
She rose slowly, taking care not to disturb her sore knee. She swung her bare feet to the rug on the floor next to her bed, relishing the feel of soft wool under her toes, and padded sleepily to the kitchen. 

She set water on to boil for tea and puttered happily about the kitchen, singing to herself as she began breakfast. Her husband, Fastred of Greenholm, was away again on yet another extended trip to visit family, and she was alone. She was happy enough on her own, however, being a most independent type of person. It was most unusual for a hobbit, indeed, but she was Samwise Gamgee's daughter, after all; what use had she for what was considered proper after the precedent her father had set? 

Her sausages were done, and so was her toast. Still humming merrily, she slide the delicious-smelling food off the pans and onto the waiting plates. Her tea water was boiling moments later, and she rummaged through several jars before she found the tea bag she wanted. She poured the hot water into her mother's antique teapot, painted sweetly with roses (of course), and turned back to the table. What she saw there made her drop the teapot. 

"What on Earth---"   
She had no time to scream before the black thing with the pinprick eyes and rotting flesh was upon her. It slammed her backwards into the wall beside the fireplace, striking her head against the stones and making her vision go black. She cried out once as she slid down the wall, wondering vaguely what this creature was and what it was doing in her home. As she fell to the ground, she knocked a pan off its hook, which she grabbed in desperation and whipped around in an attempt to defend herself. 

The pan caught her attacker on the side of its misshapen head, knocking loose chunks of flesh from the skull that pattered in stinking piles upon her floor. Reeling slightly, it clapped its clawed hands over her ears, making her scream against the pain and fall retching to the floor. 

Gibbering darkly to itself in a foul language, it lifted the shivering hobbit in its arms and roared in triumph. Elanor moaned again, feeling blood leak slowly from her ears and the back of her head, and tried to scream for help as she realized that the beast was about to carry her into the flames. Her cries were cut off as the creature struck her across the head one last time, leaving her senseless in its grasp. Without any more resistance, it stepped into the fire and disappeared. 

The kitchen remained much as it had before; sunny, quiet, and filled with the smell of toast and sausages. The fire had burned to ash by nightfall, but Elanor had not returned. 

*************** 

Queen Arwen was wandering alone in her garden at sundown. Caught there, between sun and moon, she was as lovely a vision as ever was seen on Middle-Earth. Her hair was bound in braids, her throat was clasped in jewels, and she was dressed in flowing white. Even mortal, the Evenstar was still as beautiful as the songs said she was. 

Her thoughts strayed to her father as she walked. How she longed to see him again! Most bitter of all partings had been the loss of her beloved father, of having to say farewell to he she most adored, beside her own dearest husband. But Aragorn was near, though closeted away with his advisors, and her father was many lifetimes away, in the Undying Lands. Her mind was troubled by the depth of her loss, and though she did not regret her choice, she still missed her father terribly. 

She reached out a delicate white hand to stroke the petals of a rose. It was smooth under her fingertips, and she was lost in sensation until the voice behind her broke into her thoughts. 

"Tell me, Lady Queen...now that you are mortal, will you bleed?" She whirled around, fear rising sickly in her heart, but she could not see where the voice came from. Her eyes darted back and forth like a startled bird's, but even when the beast reared at her out of the trees she still could not fasten her gaze upon it. It was upon her before she could draw breath, and it bore her away on a bed of stinking, silent wind. 

It was many hours before she was missed.   



	2. Attack, and Determination

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be. Just inspired by it! 

************ 

Merrie, daughter of Kerra Ojona, paused momentarily in her pacing across one of the border walls of the fey city of Siobhangé. Nights in the forest of Ré-Nancet came fast and thick, heavy layers of heat and moisture that laid low any not used to their potency. But tonight, a chill wind was blowing, and a foul scent lay thinly upon it.   
  
She shivered under her light mail coat. She had been having wild, twisting dreams of a stinking darkness for many weeks now, but at night, alone on guard, the nightmares seemed much, much closer. 

She pushed the thoughts away with a discipline born of long practice. Focusing on the forest laid out before her, she resumed her pacing, tapping the blade of her dagger against her palm. It was the only outward sign of her distraction. 

A bird flew past her face, making her gasp and jump back in a fit of fraying nerves. She had never been so on edge before; something in the dark was making her mind reel around and around in circles. She had never felt so out of control before in her own body, and the suddenly blustery wind wasn't helping. 

Feeling sick, she leaned back against the wall. The stench in the air was growing stronger, and every sense she had was on the alert. Even feeling as weak as she did, Merrie was still a force to be reckoned with. Her twin daggers were drawn from their sheaths and held trembling before her as she sent a call echoing out from her mind to any who could aid her. 

Silence, however, reigned in her mind. A wall had been thrown up between her and her people; she could not reach them by the old ways, and something was very, very wrong. 

"Votal! Aramira! Help! Something's here...something's coming!" Her voice, grown shrill with fear, was caught off as a roar seemed to leap straight at her. She slammed back into the wall, and the last sensation she remembered before its claws slashed into her face and neck was the rough stone against her back. 

By the time Votal and Aramira had reached the platform, all that Merrie had left was a small bloodstain on the ground they could barely notice in the silent   
darkness. 

************* 

Even curled up next to Sam and covered with silken sheets, Anemosi still felt the cold. Shivering, she rose from the bed gently, so as not to wake Sam, and padded outside in bare feet. The air she breathed was warm and scented, and she wandered serenely in the night down a moonlit path, unafraid and blissfully happy. 

She could not remember how long she had dwelt in the Undying Lands, with every day more perfect than the last. All life was joy when spent with Sam, so who would count the days? 

She had reached the beach, a silver figure that gleamed softly in the dark. The sand under her feet was smooth and slippery, and to avoid falling she sat down upon the shore. A gentle wind played through her hair, lifting it in tendrils around her face. The sea air brushed her nostrils, tingling in her lungs and reminding her of the day she had sailed away from Middle-Earth forever. 

A tear dropped out of her eye, unbidden, and she dashed it away. There could be no sadness here, surrounded by such love and peace, but her mind still cried out for the memories of Kerra, of Drake, of Merrie...of the hobbits, of all the dear friends she had left behind. 

Sam, somehow sensing that Anemosi was no longer beside him, rose slowly from sleep to find himself alone. He wasn't worried; he knew how Anemosi loved the sea, and he got up sleepily to look out the window facing the beach. There she was, hair blowing at behind her as she sifted sand over and over through her fingers. His heart swelled again with love for her, and a never-ceasing wonder at being with her here, in the Undying Lands. 

I think I'll join her down there, he thought as he gathered his shirt up from the floor. Trying to fasten his buttons with sleep-numbed fingers and walk at the same time occupied his attention for a precious few seconds as he hummed lightly to himself. The night seemed to be close and hovering, but he paid it no mind until he reached the portion of the path that was obscured from the beach. 

Something passed him. Something dark and heavy and filthy-smelling. He stumbled, searing visions of Mordor clouding his sight, and he had barely regained his feet before he heard Anemosi cry out from the beach. 

"Sam! Sweet Lady, Sam! Help me!" There was a breath of silence; then, a high, silvery scream that sliced through his brain. 

"Anemosi!" he yelled helplessly, the old fear of losing her rising hot and heavy in his throat. "Anemosi!" 

"Sam! Oh, Sam!" Another scream, then the low growl of something ancient and evil. Sam was running as fast as he could; there were alarmed voices behind him, and footsteps, but his only thought was for Anemosi. 

He was pounding over sand now, his feet slipping and sliding, but now he could see her. There was a trail of silvery blood on the sand, leading to Anemosi's form. Something dark was dragging her away, under the sand, and she was struggling feebly against it. 

"No! Anemosi!" He almost fell at her side, clutching for her hand, trying to pull her away from whatever it was that was attacking her, but the creature lashed out with stinging claws and knocked him away. 

"Sam!" she cried weakly, and and he opened his eyes in time to see her disappear under the sand in a heartbeat. 

"No!" he wailed, and heedless of his pain, he started scrabbling in the sand, desperately hoping he could reach her. It was to no avail, and he thrashed out blindly through his tears at the person who tried to draw him away. 

Frodo let go of Sam's arms, allowing Gandalf to pry Sam away from the hole he had dug. 

"What happened, Gandalf?" whispered Frodo over Sam's body-wracking sobs. "What happened to Anemosi? I thought nothing could happen here, in the Undying Lands." 

"We did as well, Frodo," came Lord Elrond's voice from behind him. His voice stilled all noise, even the sound of Sam's tears, and his face was set and hard.   
"We thought we were safe here. Apparently, we were wrong." 

"Where is she?" wailed Sam. "What is going on?" 

"It is as I feared," replied the Lady Galadriel, who had just gracefully descended the path. "There is an evil in Middle-Earth that has the power to reach even Eressea." 

A chill wound up Frodo's spine. "Sauron?" he whispered. Galadriel shook her head. 

"It cannot be. He perished when the One Ring was destroyed. This is a new danger, a new enemy whose name we do not know." She tilted back her head to gaze at the stars, and her eyes were fearful. "If the Lady Radika cannot defend herself, then I do not know what there is to do against such a foe." 

Sam sank to the ground in heartbreak. His beloved Anemosi...but what was this under his hand? He lifted the object up and peered at it in the dark. The Sun was just beginning to show her face over the horizon, and he could just make out faint writing upon the rough surface. "Look," he said softly, and all turned to him.   
"There's Elvish on this, but not like any kind I've seen." 

Galadriel took it from him slowly. Her face darkened and grew pained, and she almost threw the stone to the ground. "Mordor," she spat. "It came from Mordor." 

Silence fell upon the gathering. An eternity passed before Sam cleared his throat. 

"I'm going back." 

"But Sam!" cried Frodo. "You cannot go alone!" 

Sam's face was set in a look of determination Frodo recognized all too well. "Why not, Mr. Frodo? You tried to go to Mordor alone; why can't I?" 

"Because I won't let you!" answered Frodo. 

Another brief silence fell before Gandalf spoke. "It seems to me," he said quietly, his hands upon his belt, "that it is time for the Fellowship to come together against a new foe." 

"You mean to leave Eressea?" asked Elrond. 

"If we do not go," answered Gandalf, "there may not be an Eressea left. If this enemy has captured the Lady Radika, who knows who else they are attacking, or what aims they are pursuing. It is up to us to fight the enemy of the free people of the world." 

The Sun was rising over the Sundering Sea as their ship set sail for Middle-Earth.   



	3. Enter Lanal, Mistress of Mordor

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no matter how much I want them to be. 

*********** 

Lanal was pleased. Everything was going according to plan. 

The fortress of Barad-Dur was not exactly in livable condition, but she was managing. After all, she had long ago learned to live in the worst conditions, and she rather enjoyed having corpses for company. 

Her spindly fingers stroked the palantir gently, seductively. She could see each of them, each of the four pivot points, and each of them was in her possession. It had been easier to claim them than she had thought, though the little one with the hairy feet had surprised her by fighting back. The elf-lady, of course, was predictable; she had tried to puzzle out what was happening to her before mounting any kind of a defense. The fey warrior had been quicker to act, and the beast Lanal had sent after her had been gutted and fed to its fellows for nearly letting her escape. 

And the Lady Radika...what a triumph! Lanal had doubted, secretly, that her power would not be strong enough to reach into the Undying Lands and snatch away the silver beauty like a ripe fruit. She had pleasantly surprised when her minion had caught Anemosi unawares on the beach. Victory was indeed sweet, but revenge would be sweeter. 

Revenge...the word echoed beautifully in her mind. Revenge for her Sauron; broken, defeated, and at last destroyed. The memory of that cursed Isildur slicing her beloved's fingers from his hand was bitter in her mouth, and the image of him falling away from her after the blasted halfings had somehow managed to destroy the One Ring was even more painful. She still burned with the pain of losing him. She always would, until she had found a way to release him from wherever he had been sent. 

And now she had her chance. Withdrawing her hand from the palantir, Lanal turned around and gracefully exited the room. She walked quickly through the corridors, avoiding the patches of sunlight that pierced through the ceiling. Her soldiers saluted her as she passed them, but she ignored them as she always did when she had no need for them. 

She stopped at a heavy black door, and with a single touch from her pale, thin hand it flew open into a dank, stinking room. Dirty , rotting piles were slowly festering into mold in the corners, and filthy water flowed from the ceiling, but Lanal knelt down beside the still form that was huddled on the center of the floor. 

"Wake up!" she hissed and slashed the figure cruelly on the cheek. Her victim moaned weakly, but still caught Lanal unawares when a leg whipped out and connected solidly with the backs of Lanal's legs. She stumbled, and Merrie reared off the floor to dive at her while she was distracted. 

A single glance was all it took to slam Merrie backwards into the sharp stone wall. She felt the rocks scraping layers of clothing and flesh off her back as she tumbled into a limp pile on the floor. 

Crossing swiftly over the fetid puddles, Lanal delivered a series of short, crisp kicks to Merrie's side, then hauled her up by the neck and drove the back of her head against the wall. Merrie bit her lips to hold back a cry of pain as her vision shadowed red. When her sight cleared, Lanal's face filled her eyes. 

"You remember me, don't you, little soldier?" she hissed, red flecks of acidic saliva hitting Merrie in the face. "Your mother told you stories about me, about what I was capable of, didn't she? Didn't she?!" Merrie spat in her face; it was a brave thing to do, and a stupid one. With insane strength, Lanal hefted her in one hand and tossed her across the room. 

Merrie hit the floor with a sickening thud. Something cracked and broke inside, a burning feeling seeping into her lungs. Lanal's nightmare visage was hovering over her again, and smiling like a graveyard cracked open. 

"I'm taking back what is rightfully mine, you see. You all had a hand in destroying my life, and now, I am taking it back. All of it." Lanal leaned down as Merrie held her side, panting helplessly in pain. "You forgot about me, you fools. He hid me away, to make sure he had something left in case he should fail. And I awakened when my summons came." She smiled again, and Merrie felt the pain fire anew in her side. 

"You will not win," Merrie gasped. "There are those that will stop you..." 

Lanal laughed coldly. "Who? The elves are leaving, hiding away in their Eressea, but even that is not safe from my hand." She stood gracefully. "Nowhere is safe. No one is safe...not even your beloved Lady Radika, or the adored Queen Arwen." 

"Lady Radika!" moaned Merrie. "You don't dare!" 

"Oh, but I do! I dare indeed! Even now, she is mine, and her weak little halfling lover could not save her. I have the four that I need, Mistress Merrie, to bring it back...to bring back all that I have lost." 

Merrie coughed weakly. "So why do you come to me to gloat? Surely your esteemed presence is needed elsewhere." 

Lanal lifted her right hand slowly, and suddenly, at the door, two beasts, twins of the one that had come to claim her, were filling the doorway. "I do not come to gloat...I come to summon you to my game room. I would not want you to be bored while you wait for your purpose to be served. Welcome, Merrie of the Fey, to the world of my dark delights." 

The creatures crept forward, slavering darkly at the mouth, and Lanal closed the door behind them. It would be a good show. 

No matter how hard she tried, Merrie's cries still echoed throughout Barad-Dur. 


	4. The Queen of the City

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, nuh-uh, not mine...boo-hoo!   
A/N: Kerra became Queen of the City when Anemosi left for the Undying Lands. Kerra is not the Lady Radika; Anemosi kept that role even after she left. If you're still confused, check out "Samwise's Tale"...it should explain everything. Enjoy! 

************ 

They had completely bypassed the Shire, not wanting to cause any disturbances there with their sudden reappearance after having left for the Undying Lands. Talk over the appearance of several strangers in the Shire a year ago bearing a marked resemblance to the creatures described in the tales of the fey had still not simmered down, so Frodo and Sam felt it wise to avoid it. Gandalf had left them shortly after their arrival in Middle-Earth, not explaining his departure in any other way than to tell them that he "had work to do". After much deliberation, Frodo and Sam had decided to travel directly to the ancient forest of Ré-Nancet, and through there into the fey city of Siobhangé.   
  
They had not been forgotten since their first visit to the city, and had been welcomed at the forest's edge by a small group of fey warriors who had escorted them through the forest, for the city was too well protected to allow any outsiders to enter it without a fight. 

They had to wait several days until the Queen of the City returned from her visits to the other fey cities. She, like many of the other fey, was an old friend, and Sam especially was dreading informing her of Anemosi's capture. He was nowhere near ready when the summons came from the Queen herself that they were wanted in her council chamber. 

Sam and Frodo were not prepared for what greeted them as they were shown into the chamber by a silent fey warrior. They had seen many strange and powerful sights in their time, and many fearful and terrifying ones as well, but nothing in their experiences had taught them how to deal with the complete despair that filled the woman who sat facing them. 

She was pale as ice, her skin translucent with the weight of a grief she should have never had to bear. She was thin as a leaf and her eyes were stained red at the edges, but she was still blessed with the reddest hair in Middle-Earth, and that was how they recognized Kerra Ojona. 

She looked up slowly as they entered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. In an instant, her face melted into a dazzling smile and she leapt out of her chair to catch them both by the hand, almost crying in her joy at seeing them again. 

"Frodo Baggins! It does my heart well to see you!" His face was seized between two battle-roughened hands and his cheeks were kissed heartily, her embraces as strong and all-encompassing as ever. "I never thought I should see you again!" 

In a breath, her attentions turned to Sam. He was swooped upon, kissed, hugged, and greeted until his cheeks burned a vivid scarlet. In spite of the joy she produced to welcome them, Sam could sense that Kerra was hiding a deep sorrow. Her laughter, once like a careless shower of glittering jewels, was forced, like cheap rhinestones, and her cheeks were hollow. She led them to two wooden chairs, gracefully lowered herself into the third, and clasped her hands before her. A shadow fell over her face; she could have been made of wax. Now that the immediate distraction of their arrival was over, the gloom settled upon her again, and they were silent, waiting for her to speak. 

When she did speak, her voice was low and rough. She seemed to be barely holding on to her composure; all her happiness and laughter was only a facade that soon fell apart. 

"I thank you for coming to our aid, my friends," she began slowly, "in our time of need. We are deep in grief, and I do not know what to do." She tried to continue, but a sob choked out of her, a ripping sound that made Frodo shudder. Kerra threw her head back, pain outlined in her profile, and spoke again. 

"They...it...whatever this new evil is...it has taken Merrie. It came to my daughter on the walls of this city and tore her away from us before we knew what had happened. Oh Lady!" She covered her mouth with a shaking hand and closed her eyes tightly, but tears still leaked out the edges. The spasm of despair passed slowly, and Sam jumped when he heard Kerra's voice again. 

"I have just received word today that Queen Arwen was also taken by the enemy." It was amazing how quickly the ambiguous force took on that name. "Forgive me, Master Samwise, that I must bear you this news...but I fear that Elanor disappeared from the Shire when Queen Arwen and Merrie vanished." 

Sam went white to the lips. He seemed to shrink with the weight of a double sorrow he was never meant to bear, and Frodo reached out a hand to Sam, steadying his friend when it seemed that Sam would fall to the floor. 

"Not Elanor too..." His voice was shaking, and his skin was clammy under Frodo's hand. 

Kerra's eyes widened. "What do you mean, Master Samwise?" A single eloquent look from Sam was all it took to tell her. 

"The Lady Radika! No!" Kerra thrust herself out of her seat and walked jerkily over to the window. Her hands were shaking and the skin on her face had gone mottled with barely contained rage. Moments passed in silence except for Sam's harsh breathing. He was holding on to Frodo's hand with a death grip. 

Kerra turned away from the window slowly. "It seems, my friends, that we have our work decided for us. This calls for drastic measures." 

Frodo glanced up. What kind of drastic measures? He shuddered as he remembered the fierce battle that had raged in the city as they had escaped, and he had no desire to see the fey fight once more. That one experience had been quite enough terror for a single lifetime. 

"I do not know," said Kerra, "why these women have been chosen, and I do not know the villain, though I can make a guess." Her face darkened and, for the first time that Frodo and Sam knew of, she looked afraid. 

"Lanal, I fear, has returned to Mordor." 

The very name made her shiver. Frodo and Sam exchanged a wondering glance; what was it in the name that provoked such terror? Mordor they could understand; that name had just recently stopped haunting their dreams, but Lanal? 

Kerra caught the look, and smiled grimly. "Lanal, my friends, is a witch of old. She is the only fey woman ever to be cast out of Siobhangé, and for that she has never stopped seeking to avenge herself." 

"What did she do to be punished so?" asked Frodo. 

"She killed her brother." Kerra's hard blue eyes met his. "The fey do not kill one another. It is the one act that is unforgivable, even by the Lady. It has only happened once, long ago in the Second Age." 

"And she's still alive?" Frodo said. He had always thought that the fey soon died when separated from others of their kind. 

Kerra pursed thin lips. "Alive...an interesting term, Master Frodo. Very subjective. Yes, she is alive, in a very superficial sense. She eats, she breathes, she...desires, but she can no longer think for herself. Her only thought is revenge, and to that end, she turned herself over to the Dark Lord. She became his consort, his whore," Kerra was spitting the words out in a blister of fury, "and she now, even though the One Ring is gone and the Dark Lord defeated, is trying to avenge herself upon us and the creatures that refused to shelter her." 

"But why Elanor?" cried Sam. "Why my daughter? What have hobbits ever done? And why Anemosi?" He was shaking now, his brown eyes filled with tears. 

Kerra bowed her head. "That, Master Samwise, I do not know. What I do know, is that we must save them before Lanal is able to complete her aims. I am glad that you are here; I have a great task to ask of you. I ask that you once more willing take on a burden of pain, and suffer, so that others may be spared." Her eyes were pleading as she met each of their gazes. "You both have much invested in this quest; too much hangs in the balance for you to refuse." 

Frodo swallowed heavily. To tear himself away from the Undying Lands had been hard enough; to realize that he had left it for the blasted plains of Mordor was too much to believe. He could not do it. 

But then he caught a glance of Sam. His oldest friend's fists were clenched, and his lower lip was clamped between his teeth in a gesture that Frodo knew all too well. He had seen it enough in Mordor when Sam had supported him and carried him and been loyal to him when the weight of the Ring was too much to bear and all hope within his own heart had died. There was no way he could refuse to help Sam when he had so much at stake. 

"I'll go," they both said at the same time. Sam looked over at Frodo, and a light flared up deep in his eyes. His expression was a heartrending mix of sorrow, determination, and gratefulness, and once again Frodo was aware of how deep the bond was between them. 

Kerra silently crossed the room and knelt down before them in a fluid motion. She took one of each of their hands and gripped it tightly in her own. "I would not ask of you anything that I would not do myself, my friends...I shall go with you to Mordor. Though we go to hell and back, I shall be at your sides. And," she said with a sly glitter of hope in her eyes, "I believe we shall have help along the way." She squeezed their hands again, and a new Fellowship was formed.   



	5. The Fallen Lady

DISCLAIMER: All non-Tolkien material is mine. Enjoy:) 

************ 

Anemosi's eyes fluttered open on to a nightmare geometry of decay. Her entire body ached with repeated beatings; she was almost unrecognizable under the accumulated dirt and grime of days of torture. She had long ago stopped trying to hold back the cries of pain, and now she was even starting to flinch when the door to her cell opened and one of the black beasts entered.   
  
For once, however, she was left alone. The door to her cell stayed closed, and she remained silent so as not to attract any attention to herself. She had no interest in another beating. Heaving herself into a sitting position, she crawled over to the basin of fetid water that had been set out for her use and painfully began to clean her wounds. There was a long gash down her right arm that had begun to fester, and she took her time delicately picking out tiny stones that had lodged themselves inside her flesh. She was dull and quiet, going about caring for herself without thought. 

Weeks ago, when she had first been brought here, she had raged and screamed at her captors, and fought with teeth and nail to get away. When they had brought out the dark machines that had been left to rust in darkness, she had tried to blast them away with a Word of Power, but the syllables had fallen dry and dusty from her lips. Lanal, that infernal bitch, had only laughed as she had seen the hope die in Anemosi's eyes. Then, they had started to hurt her. 

She remembered vaguely a dark whirring blade descending at her, and putrid steam rising up around her, but the worst torture had been when Lanal had bidden her creatures to bring forth the other captives. Seeing Elanor, Merrie, and Arwen brought before her, and seeing them hope that she could be the instrument of their rescue, was worse than any poison Lanal could devise. When Anemosi had screamed in pain and fallen limp and sobbing to the ground, all hope had died within the other three captives. The pain had been horrible, but tolerable, as long as they could imagine that somehow Anemosi in all her power could save them. But she was just as weak as they were...maybe even more so. 

Slowly, she found her thoughts turning to Sam. He had permeated her dreams, when she still had the energy to dream of a happier time. A tear slid out of her eye, but she did not blink, only stared blankly at the wall ahead of her. Sam would hate her now, she thought, if he could see her, if he could see how quickly she had broken under Lanal's hands. He had survived Mordor and the horrors of Mount Doom, but at the first test of her strength, she had cried out and flinched away. 

She had tried praying to the Lady, but even that support had been withdrawn. There was nowhere left for her to turn, no hope left. She would die, and Arwen and Elanor and Merrie would die, and Lanal would win, and her people and all of Middle-Earth would fall to dust and ruin. Another tear fell, and Anemosi's thoughts trailed away into nothing but a desperate resolve. She was of the fey, even if she had failed as their Lady Radika, and the fey never let themselves die at the hands of an enemy. 

It was not with a plan for escape that she rose clumsily to her feet and stood shivering in the middle of her cell. She picked up the basin and stared at it blankly, then, gathering all the strength that was left to her, hurled it against the wall. It crashed satisfyingly into many pieces that scattered around her feet. Bending down painfully, she picked up a little piece, testing the sharp edge against her palm, then deliberately slashed her wrists. 

The effect was almost immediate. She felt a slow draining down her arms as the warm blood flowed over her hands, and a stab of fear lanced through her. What had she done? Why had she done something so stupid? 

But then a tiny hope grew in her fading mind. She was no use to Lanal dead. The torture had been meant to weaken them, not kill them, because only four living pivot points could be used in the spell that Lanal would be attempting. When the last drop of her blood drained away, Lanal's plans would be halted. 

Anemosi smiled dreamily as her gaze went black. She had done something right. Sam would be proud of her, she thought. But oh, how she missed him... 

She thought that she saw him for an instant, standing before her and smiling with arms outstretched, and then her eyes closed.   



	6. New and Old Friends in Rainwall

DISCLAIMER: If it's not Tolkien's, it's mine. But he's the genius that inspired me. 

*********** 

Seeing Kerra stop up ahead of him, Sam reined in his pony at the top of the hill, sweating almost as hard as his mount was. He had forced himself to his broad limits of his energy, and he was secretly glad that she was calling for a rest. He waited until Frodo caught up with him, and then they rode to Kerra's side. She looked hardly the worse for wear, even after three weeks of riding almost non-stop. The only pauses in their journey had been at the fey rest-houses along the way, where they exchanged their tired ponies for fresh steeds, or to sleep when they could no longer go on.   
  
When they reached her, she did not turn her head to acknowledge them, but she lifted her arm and pointed down the hill at a long grey strand that cut across the fields before them, split in the middle by a large stone building. 

"Rainwall," she said quietly. "We rest there tonight." 

She immediately started down the hill at speed, forcing Sam and Frodo to quicken their mounts' paces to keep up with her. As they drew closer to the strand of grey, Sam saw that it was a high wall seemingly carved out one long, long stone. It was singing, he realized with a thrill, a melody that echoed up from the ground and thrummed against his ribcage. If he touched it, he was sure that it would be warm under his palm. 

There were two tall forms awaiting them at the entrance to the stone edifice. One was clad all in white, and holding a staff, while the other was dressed in a dark grey. The figure in white lifted its arm in greeting as they rode up, and all three of the travelers were relieved to see Gandalf's familiar face smiling at them. 

"Gandalf! We did not expect to see you here so soon!" Kerra swung off her pony and hurried up the steps. Thigh muscles aching, Sam and Frodo followed her lead and slowly climbed up the stairs. Their attention was immediately drawn to the figure standing beside Gandalf as Kerra greeted her with reverent respect. 

The woman was tall and proud-looking, with dark, weathered skin and long, oily black hair. Her eyes were dark and hooded, and her teeth, when she smiled, were very, very white. Sam and Frodo, still sore from the long rides, bowed awkwardly as Kerra introduced them. 

"I bring before you Masters Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins of the Shire. You will remember them, lady, from the Great War of the One Ring." 

The woman nodded, and inclined her head towards them. "How could I forget the tale? I know many songs of your adventures, little masters. I am very eager to hear your story from your own mouths." Her voice was high and cool, like dew on a spring morning. 

"I am Sutta Hooe, the Lady of Rainwall, and you are welcome to my home and to all my possessions. It is rare that I receive any guests here, and rarer still that my guests are so esteemed in song. It is lucky, indeed, that I am able to break bread tonight with not only one, but six noble guests." 

Sam blinked. "Begging pardon, lady," he said quietly, "but there's only four of us here. Now, I was never good at math, but I just had to ask, if you catch me." 

Sutta Hooe smiled and laughed. "Ah, Master Samwise, I have a surprise for you. Perhaps you would like to see my other guests?" Without waiting for an answer, she clapped her hands together, and the sound of footsteps came from within the building. 

Frodo gasped in pure delight as none other than Meriadoc Brandybuck, still healthy and joyous despite his age, came clattering outside. He was followed, as usual, but Peregrin Took himself. 

"Merry! It's Frodo Baggins! I thought I told you I heard his voice!" Pippin's eyes were filled with happy tears as he ran forward to embrace Frodo and Sam in turn. A tear-filled reunion between the hobbits followed for some moments thereafter, as Kerra, Gandalf, and Sutta Hooe conversed quietly among themselves. 

"Sirs?" came Sutta Hooe's voice. She was smiling at them, her face creasing in lines that belied a life lived with much hardship and joy. "Please forgive my interruption, but night is soon to fall, and I am sure that you are most hungry, and in need of rest as well." 

"And if you are not hungry now, you shall be when you see the table that our host can lay out!" cried Pippin merrily. "I have not eaten so well since our days in Rivendell!" 

Sutta Hooe smiled again and silently gestured for them to walk inside the great stone building. Kerra walked behind Frodo and Sam, her footsteps soft upon the smooth stone flags of the floor. 

"Kerra, who is this lady?" asked Frodo. "Is she an elf, for if she is, I have never seen her like." 

He sensed rather than saw Kerra shake her head. "Sutta Hooe is no elf, Master Frodo. She is the Lady of Rainwall, and that is all I can tell you. She is a great friend when one is in need, but she is someone to be greatly feared when you are facing her from the opposite side." 

Sam, who had been listening to Kerra, felt a chill wind up his back as he watched Sutta Hooe pass down the hall ahead of them. As she walked, candles grew out of the walls to light her way, and the whole time the little group was walking, he could hear the sound of the wall singing outside, in the growing darkness. 

This was a place of power, then, but how could this dark woman help their lost ones? He could only wonder as he walked deeper into the house of the Lady of Rainwall.   



	7. The Scavenger

DISCLAIMER: Tolkien is the man! I could never claim his stuff is mine. 

*********** 

The guards that had been assigned to Anemosi's cell had been butchered and fed to their fellows for letting her slip through their fingers. Lanal was raging through the fortress, her gaze cutting down any unlucky enough to cross her path. In her fury, she had thrown Anemosi's body out into the blasted plains below the fortress, and had then secreted herself in her chambers. Her fury made the foundations of Mount Doom shake, but she was not totally undone. She still had three of the pivot points, and they could still be used...she only had to bide her time. 

Anemosi's form came to rest on a stinking pile of refuse. It rested there for a few hours until a dark form clambered on top of the pile. It was Brule. 

Brule was a scavenger. He had lived in Mordor for untold years, and was neither good or bad, only out for himself. He took no interest in the goings-on of Middle-Earth, but he did take an interest in the pale form that had been thrown in the midden. Underneath the stink, it smelled warm and sweet, like the mother he had almost forgotten. He wanted it. 

He looked around himself carefully, making sure there were no sentries about to try and take his prize away. Lanal's guards laughed at him, scavenger that he was, but he laughed at them too; he was free, not merely the hands of a witch that never showed her face under the Sun. And no one, not even the witch herself, could take this prize from him. 

He picked Anemosi's body up, surprised at how light she was. He climbed carefully down from the pile of filth and silently scuttled away towards his den. It was good that his prize was so light; a garrison of Lana;'s guards were marching towards him on patrol, and he barely made it under an overhang of rock before they reached him. They passed silently away, the only noise the sound of metal boots slapping against the ground. 

Stealing a quick look around and seeing that everything was clear, Brule crept out into the open space and silently raced towards his den. Panting, he dove into the entrance hole and pulled Anemosi's body after him. He lit a small candle made of some kind of fat that he had stolen from the refuse pile, and examined his prize. 

She was filthy, and very young. Brule took an experimental poke at her side, and jumped back when he heard her moan. Her eyes opened slowly, glowing and silver, and she coughed weakly. When her gaze fell upon him, Brule felt a sliver of warmth slide down into his belly and lodge there. Something had been awakened within him, and he spoke the first words he had said in over a hundred years. 

"What are ye?" His voice was cracked and rusty from disuse, and his mouth, only used for chewing for so long, had trouble shaping the words. 

She coughed again and spit out phlegm. "Where am I?" she asked, totally disregarding his question. 

"In me den, lady," he said respectfully. There was something in her voice that made him think she was used to getting answers quickly. 

She sat up slowly. "I should be dead," she breathed. "I was dead..." She shook her head to clear it, and turned her head to look at him. Her clear eyes met his, and he felt a chill flow up his throat. A silence fell in the little den as she closed her eyes, breathing raggedly. She began to whisper to herself, strange words in another, older language that Brule, knowing only the Common Tongue, could not understand. Her eyes flew open, almost blistering hot in their intensity, and she barely stifled a cry as she clutched her wrists. They had been cut open, he saw, but had healed quickly, quicker than should be possible. Slowly, the fit passed, and she recovered, breathing hard. He was silent until he could no longer withhold his question. 

"What are ye?" he asked again, hoping for an answer. 

"My name is Anemosi," she said slowly. "And I have much work ahead of me. I have been told what I must do." Her eyes glittered with a private fire, and Brule shivered. He had never found anything like this creature in the midden before. What was he to do now? 

She turned to him before he could begin to puzzle out his options. "What kind of creature are you, that lives in Mordor, yet does not seem to have anything to do with Lanal?" She shivered as she spoke the name. 

"I'm Brule, lady. I ain't no part o' what happens in that there tower, if you catch me. I just live here." 

She raised a delicate eyebrow, and seemed to be on the point of speaking when another fit of weak coughing overtook her. He reached out and patted her awkwardly on the back until it wore off, and she was left shivering in its passing. 

"Do you have any water?" she asked, her voice no more than a croak. 

He nodded dumbly, and began to rummage through his belongings for a small water canteen. The water was muddied and gritty, but she gulped it down like wine. It seemed to help, and her voice was clearer when she spoke again. 

"Well, Brule, it seems I may have to stay here until I am able to move again. The Lady has told me that you are to be trusted." 

Brule blinked in confusion. What Lady? The only lady he could see was the one sitting before him. But he had no objection to her staying...now that she was awake, she smelled much better. 

He was readying himself to produce another halting sentence when a sudden rumble from above his hole caught both their attentions. 

Up in her chamber, Lanal had awaken from a dark and rushing nightmare of failure. She could sense a movement where before there had only been silence and dust, and she was afraid. What was this rustling in her mind, like a cough that would not go away? 

"The bitch!" 

In Brule's den, hidden and safe, at least for the moment, Anemosi and Brule could discern one voice out of the cacophony of noise above them. 

"Find her! She is alive! I can feel her! FIND HER!" 

It was Lanal, and she was hunting Anemosi.   



	8. Who Bears He Who Bears the Grief?

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Oh well, can't win them all. 

************* 

The little group of visitors were led deep into the warm silence of Rainwall House. It made Sam drowsy to walk in the heat, but his senses awoke when they entered a huge dining hall where a fantastically large table was covered with a lavish spread of food and drink. There was fragrant, sweet bread, hot soup, fresh vegetables and fruit, and huge cuts of meat, all laid out for their enjoyment. Sam was in wonder; he had never seen such food, and in such abundance, ever before.   
  
In moments, the hungry travelers had seated themselves at the table and were helping themselves to the luscious food. The meat fairly melted on their tongues, and even the bread of Lothlorien could not compare to the loaves of Rainwall. Sam ate quickly, barely listening to the flow of conversation around him, but Kerra's clear voice could not be blocked out, and reluctantly he found himself listening. 

"Sutta Hooe, I must tell you: the stakes in this quest are high. Lanal has already captured the four pivot point. She has grown more powerful than we ever anticipated. She has the ability to reach into Eressea." 

Sutta Hooe's knife clattered to her plate, but her face remained impassive. "Then she has taken the Lady Radika?" Only her eyes betrayed any emotion, and it was both sad and angry. 

Gandalf nodded. "We were not quick enough to save her." 

Sam felt a thick clot of guilt building in his chest. Here he was, eating his fill, surrounded by friends and comfort, and Anemosi and Elanor were suffering, possibly even dead. He pushed his plate away and stood up. Sutta Hooe's dark eyes followed him as he walked stiffly out of the room. 

He had no idea where he was going, but he kept walking. His thoughts were pained, his heart was shivering, and tears were blinding him by the time he reached the door to the outside. He could still hear the stone humming outside, but the sound brought him no comfort. Sam shoved the door open and stumbled out into the cool night air. 

He collapsed on the top of the steps, sobbing hopelessly. He felt the death of hope in his heart as he thought of Anemosi and Elanor, trapped in Mordor under the shadow of Mount Doom. He hated that place, but more than he hated it, he feared it. He and Frodo had survived Mordor's danger once; would they be so lucky again? How could he save his love when she could not defend herself? 

Sam's sobs wracked his body, and he was unable to stop them. All the pain that he had been holding in since he had left the Undying Lands was released as he sat on the steps of Rainwall House. He could not stop crying; he had not felt this helpless since Frodo, under the influence of Shelob's poison, had been carried away into Barad-Dur all those years ago. 

As if summoned by a tug on an invisible heart-string, Frodo quietly stepped outside. The air was chill, and he had brought his cloak, but a look at Sam sobbing and shivering on the steps made him forget his own discomfort. 

Who bears he who bears the Ring? Frodo thought sadly. Sam had born so much, and complained so little, and Frodo was damned if he could not offer comfort to his dearest friend at this time. 

He walked over to Sam slowly, not wanting to scare him, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam jumped slightly, his breath catching in his throat, but then a work-roughened hand clutched Frodo's. 

"I want her back, Frodo," came Sam's broken voice. "I thought I had lost her for the longest time, and I had her back for so little...I just want her back!" His voice cracked and he broke into sobs again, tears streaming down his face. 

Frodo sat down beside Sam and wrapped his arms around him. "Hush, Sam," he whispered. "You'll get her back, and Elanor too. I promise you, you will get them back, and Lanal will pay for what she has done." 

He felt Sam swallow hoarse sobs against him. "What if they're dead, Mr. Frodo?" he cried out. "What if we're too late? I couldn't bear it if she's gone! I don't think...I don't know if I can live without--" 

Frodo hushed him again, stroking his back gently. "Don't say that, Sam! Please don't say that! She'll be all right..." 

Sam looked up slowly, eyes and nose red from crying. "But Mr. Frodo--" 

"Sam." Frodo's blue eyes met his, love and sadness and loyalty and determination and a strange, unfamiliar expression mixed together in their depths. "I think that after all our years together you can call me Frodo." 

Sam smiled slightly. "If you say so, Mr--Frodo." 

"That's better." Frodo smiled sweetly at him. "Sam, you stood by me when I had to go through Mordor. And I will stand by you on your journey through that hell. As long as I can breathe, I will fight for you and your Anemosi to be together again." 

Sam leaned his head against Frodo's shoulder. "Thank you," he breathed quietly. "Thank you." 

Frodo held him until the morning sun rose and Sutta Hooe came to greet them. She awoke them gently, and as they were rubbing the sleep from their eyes, she spoke. 

"My friends, we are beginning. Come with me." 


	9. The Power of Sutta Hooe

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but I can pretend Sam is! 

********** 

"But where are we going?" Frodo asked as he followed Sutta Hooe through the labyrinthian corridors of her home. It grew warmer and more fragrant the deeper they plunged into the House's depths. "And just how big is this place anyway?"   
  
Sutta Hooe did not turn her head or break her smooth stride as she answered him. "We are going to my...workplace, you could call it, Master Frodo. We all have much work to do." 

Sam stopped as they came to the top of a flight of twisting stairs that spiraled down into darkness. "Are we going underground?" he asked with a quiver in his voice. He hated going under good solid earth; it reminded him too much of Moria. 

"No," answered Sutta Hooe as she began to descend the flight. Her dark gown swished away layers of dust from the stairs. "We are still above ground." 

Frodo shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. "That's impossible! Forgive me, lady, but your house can't be that big...I mean, it didn't look that big when we were outside it." 

"Ah!" said Sutta Hooe as she turned around with a mysterious smile on her face. "My House may not look large, Master Frodo...but it is bigger inside than it is outside. Its whole is greater than the sum of its parts." As if in response to Frodo's question, the hum from the wall outside, always present, grew louder and higher in pitch. With another smile directed at the slack-jawed hobbits, she turned and continued to descend the stairs. 

Still reeling from the mind-boggling implications of what she had just said, Frodo and Sam stumbled after her down the steps. They traveled down into a warm, moist darkness, lit infrequently by torches that burned red and with no smoke. The air was heavy and laden with spices, and like the Tower of Healing in Siobhangé, the walls seemed to whisper to themselves as the trio passed through the strange land of stone and scent. 

Sam tried to count the steps, but lost count around two thousand five hundred. After that, there was nothing to keep his mind from focusing on the soft sounds coming from the walls around him. They seemed to be speaking in a tongue he knew, and if only they were a little louder he could catch what they were saying, and then he would know all the secrets of the world...oh, how he wanted to know... 

He crashed into Frodo's back. Without him realizing it, Sutta Hooe and Frodo had reached the end of the stairs and were now facing a heavy grey door. It was carved with many ancient runes that had a distinctly fey look to them, and Sam thought he caught a glimpse of some he recognized before Sutta Hooe had raised a hand to the door and it melted away into the floor. 

Beyond the door was a sheet of steaming, fragrant water. It totally blocked their passage, but Sutta Hooe merely passed through it without a flinch. Frodo and Sam glanced at each other nervously, then squared their shoulders and walked in. 

To their surprise, they felt nothing but a gentle breath of wind against their faces, and in an instant they were with a large, brightly-lit, circular room. In the exact center of the chamber, Merry and Pippin, aged faces relaxed in sleep, lay on a high dais. Kerra and Gandalf were already there, on opposite points of the platform, hands clasped before them and eyes closed. 

"What is this?" asked Frodo breathlessly. "What is happening?" 

"Hush!" said Sutta Hooe. "No more words. Be still." Silently, she directed them to stand at two opposite points of the dais. She herself took up a place at the   
very top, and Sam slowly noticed that the platform was cut into a vague star shape. 

What new magic is this? he thought. What are we doing to poor Pip and Merry? 

His question was soon answered as Sutta Hooe drew a phial of an amber colored liquid from within the depths of her robes. She uncorked it, and whispering strange words in a forgotten tongue, she threw the fluid over Merry and Pippin. 

The effect was almost immediate. The light within the room went out, and a smell of burning filled the air. Sam nearly choked, both with repulsion and with fear, and could barely follow Sutta Hooe's directions when he heard her voice telling them to place their hands upon the platform. 

When he had done so, the platform turned icy cold under his hands. Sam tried to pull his hands away, but they were held fast to the cold wood. The table thrummed under his hands, and he was sure that if all around him was not black already his vision would be going dark and blurry. Sutta Hooe was chanting something wild and twisting at the head of the table, and the chant suddenly turned itself inside out and into a song that Gandalf and Kerra soon joined. Counterpoint and melody and basso continuo melded together, seeking to draw something out of Sam that he did not know he had possessed, and frighteningly he found his own voice joining the feral choir in the darkness. 

Something was building on the bed, something was growing and changing and shaping and flowing and he was afraid, but not with a fear like the one with which he had looked upon Mordor. This was a deeper fear he had forgotten; the power of what he himself could be capable of when darkness crept upon him and knocked upon the door of his heart. 

Before he could follow that thought through to its conclusion, the song had ended and all that could be heard was a soft sobbing coming from the head of the table. The light was growing brighter in the dark again, and Sam realized with a jolt that the light had never gone out; the darkness had only grown stronger and swallowed it up. 

Sutta Hooe was on her knees, arms wrapped around her body as she wept. Kerra and Gandalf hurried to her side, faces exhausted and concerned. 

"What happened?" asked Gandalf. His voice was weak and very, very tired. 

Sutta Hooe managed to gasp out a few words through her tears. "She nearly saw me...she tried to catch me! Oh, Lady help me!" Her eyes were large and frightened, and her voice was not her own: it belonged to-- 

"Anemosi!" yelled Sam, and ran forward to Sutta Hooe. He met her eyes and nearly cried out when he saw that they were no longer deep and black as night, but clear and shining as mithril. "Anemosi! It's Sam!" 

"Sam!" It was terrifying, hearing Anemosi's voice come from Sutta Hooe's mouth. "Sam! She's hunting! She nearly broke me! Oh Sam, hurry! We can't keep hiding forever---" Her voice was abruptly cut off as Sutta Hooe fell to the floor. All was silence for a moment, then a moan from the dais made Frodo shout out. 

"By Elbereth, what has happened here?" 

Pippin and Merry were waking up, but it was not the Merry and Pippin that had first greeted Sam and Frodo at the door of Rainwall House. It was the Merry and Pippin of the sweet, long past days of the Shire. 

Kerra gasped. "It worked! Sutta Hooe, it worked!" She turned back to Sutta Hooe, who had been lifted to her feet, shaking and still weeping, by Gandalf. 

Gandalf shook his head. "It was a great risk, Lady Kerra. We have succeeded, yes, but you see what happened." 

"Anemosi spoke through her!" screamed Sam in desperation. "She's still alive!" 

Sutta Hooe's eye's flicked up to meet his. "Yes, she did, Master Samwise, but it is not the good tiding you think it is. During this working," she gestured   
towards the dais, where Merry and Pippin, looking young and extremely confused at being so, were blinking at her, "I was open to not only Anemosi, but Lanal for just a moment. I do not know if Lanal is conscious of my presence yet, but now she has an inkling. She left me out of her reckoning for too long; after this, she can no longer afford to do so. Rainwall itself shall come under attack." She sighed and moved unsteadily away from Gandalf's support. 

"Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin, come forward please." They clambered off the dais with an agility they had not possessed for years, and stood before her, looking a little nervous, but still cheerful and proud. 

"I have given you a great gift, little masters," she began softly. "The five of us have. You have regained, for a time, the strength and vigor of your youth. Your obstinate good natures, I fear, you have also retained. You seem to have kept them over the years, and do not seem inclined to lose them at any time." She smiled gently at them, and they grinned back, relieved they couldn't be punished for being happy all the time. 

"However, this transformation depends on several factors. This magic is very old, and requires a sacrifice from each of its workers. If any harm should come to any of the five here that joined in this spell-working, you shall suffer an echo of that pain. And if they fall in battle, or to Lanal's power, you shall feel that as well. This change is not permanent, and can be undone if enough of the givers fall. It will give you strength for the task ahead of you, but it does not grant immortality. It is a gift, and may be taken from you at any time. Guard it closely, and use it well." 

They nodded solemnly, hardly daring to meet her eyes. With an air unrivaled by any queen before or since, Sutta Hooe gathered her dark gown around her body, and, looking taller and sadder than ever, turned and left the room. 


	10. The Last Comforts?

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, blah blah blah...if you sue me for the rights you'll get a dirty sock and a band uniform. So there. 

************* 

"What a feeling!" was all Merry could say when the four hobbits had returned to the chamber that they all shared. "I've felt anything like it. I could actually feel myself getting younger!" 

Pippin nodded wordlessly. He ran his hands, no longer age-spotted, through his rich brown curls and laughed out loud. "What a feat! I didn't know things like that were possible, even for the fey! This Sutta Hooe must be even more powerful than the Lady--" 

He stopped the words before he could finish the sentence, but they had already taken their toll on Sam. He bit his lip and turned away, feeling the tears, never far from the surface, beginning to well up again near his eyes. 

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. That was so careless of me." Pippin's eyes were wide with embarrassment. "Please forgive me, that was unpardonable." 

Sam shook his head quietly. "Not to worry, Pip," he replied brokenly. "It's all forgotten." 

Frodo jumped into the conversation to give Sam a chance to recover himself. "Isn't it strange, how that spell only seemed to take a few minutes, but it's really almost sunset?" he asked his companions. he gazed out the window at the rainbow of warm shades the sunset was reflecting on the Rainwall. "I almost wish we can never leave here...and what do we do when we depart? Where do we go from here?" 

"To Mordor, Master Frodo," came Kerra's voice from the doorway. The four hobbits jumped; they had forgotten that Kerra, like her fellow fey warrior Tasla, had the distinctly unnerving habit of appearing silently at any time. 

"Oh, do come in, Kerra. Please don't feel that you have to wait outside until we invite you in," said Merry sarcastically. "When will you ever stop popping up like that?" 

"Not until you stop turning that lovely pink color when I do it, Master Merry," she replied with a smile as she crossed the room in three quick strides and coiled her sinuous body into a chair. The smile immediately left her face, and she turned deadly serious. 

"I came to tell you that the final preparations are being made, as we speak, for our departure at first light tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow? We leave so soon?" asked Pippin. 

"Yes, indeed tomorrow. Sutta Hooe feels that, after the accident earlier today with the spell-working, it would be wise for us to leave Rainwall as soon as possible." 

"Leave Rainwall?" echoed Pippin. "But we've only just arrived...will she give us breakfast before we go?" 

Kerra closed her eyes in frustration. "Pippin, do you ever not think about your stomach?" 

"I'm sorry, Kerra...please continue." Pippin grinned sheepishly at her. 

"Thank you, Pippin. As I was saying, Sutta Hooe sends her deepest apologies, but she still believes that it would best for all concerned if we leave Rainwall as quickly as we can. Lanal's attentions will soon be turned to Rainwall, and she wants us as far from here as we can be before the storm hits." 

"Do you think she'll give us some of that bread before we leave?" Pippin whispered to Merry. Frodo barely held back a laugh as he saw Kerra's eyes go wide with anger. 

"Pippin! Would you kindly shut up for half a minute!" she bellowed in desperation. "You can talk about food later!" 

Pippin shrank back against the wall behind his bed. "Sorry, Kerra, " he whispered as Sam and Merry smothered a chuckle in their hands. Frodo caught a   
glitter in Kerra's eyes as she spoke again to Pippin, and nearly burst out laughing again at the look on Pippin's face. 

"One more word out of you, and you won't have to worry about your stomach ever again, because I will throw you out that window! Do you hear me?!" 

"Yes, Kerra," Pippin said in a voice so low it was barely audible. None of them had any doubts that Kerra was indeed capable of carrying out her threat, or, if she was pushed, that she would do so. However, the other three hobbits were enjoying the look on Pippin's face as he cowered away from Kerra. 

"Moving on," continued Kerra, with a glance shot in Pippin's direction, "Gandalf shall remain with Sutta Hooe here, in the event that Lanal does turn her attention here. No matter how powerful she is, Sutta Hooe was weakened by the spell-working, and Gandalf's presence will strength her defenses. And, to be quite frank, we will be harder to trace without him. If Gandalf were to accompany us, it would be as if we had sent up a signal flare to her senses as soon as we came within range. She is expecting a wizard, not four hobbits and a fey warrior." Kerra bared her teeth in the most vicious smile that any of the hobbits had ever seen. 

"I advise you all to enjoy your last night here. It may be the last comfort you experience for a very, very long time." 

"Or ever," said Pippin under his breath. He immediately sucked in a breath as Kerra looked his way, but she only smiled sadly. 

"You may be right, Pippin. I can't lie to you. We have not been as vigilant as we should have been, and Lanal has grown terribly strong. We may have failed before we can begin." She stood up slowly and made for the door of the room. When she reached the edge of the hall, she turned back and met each of their gazes, one by one. 

"If this is indeed the last great adventure, I wish to make it know that I am honored to have ridden with such admirable hobbits. There is no one I would rather die for than you, unless they are--" Her voice broke off abruptly and she left the room in silence. 

Sam felt a sob gathering up within him, knowing what she was going to say, and hated himself for being so weak. He turned his face to the wall so that the others could not see the tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes as Merry, Pippin, and Frodo soberly got ready for bed. Later, after the lamp had long been put out and Merry and Pippin were snoring, some small sound of anguish must have left his throat, for he felt Frodo's hand slowly sliding into his and gripping it tightly. 

The small contact comforted him like nothing else could. He squeezed Frodo's hand, then breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had blessed him with such a great friend before he slid into merciful sleep. Dreams of Elanor and Anemosi in happier times filled his dreams, and he awoke refreshed, still holding Frodo's hand. 

In her own chamber in the Great House of Rainwall, a red-haired warrior wept herself to sleep as she prayed desperately that her oldest friend and dearest daughter were not lost to the Shadow yet. 

Far away, in the blasted land of Mordor, Lanal paced the corridors of Barad-Dur, her face livid with rage as she awaited the advance of the last great defense of Middle-Earth. 

And furthest away of all, Anemosi shivered in a dank cave as she prepared herself for the most terrifying battle she had ever fought, and thought of Sam, and prayed that he was safe. 

It was a night for waiting. 

************ 

Kerra's glowing eyes were the first things that Sam saw the next morning. The Sun had not yet shown her face over the edge of the Rainwall, but a dull grey light cast the surrounding land into silhouette. Nothing had any color, as if all the countryside waited for the Sun to bathe it with its rich daytime hues. 

They were silent as they dressed. Their old clothes had been removed by silent hands during the night and cleaned, and new sets were laid out for each of them. Stout cloaks and dark grey stone knives completed the collection of gifts from Sutta Hooe, or so they thought. 

When they emerged from the House, blinking in the brightening early morning Sun, they were greeted by the sight of Sutta Hooe herself standing at the foot of the stairs, holding the bridles to five cheerful, dappled ponies. The ponies were already laden with provisions, to Pippin's inward delight, along with bedding and thick blankets. Sutta Hooe seemed to have recovered from the frenzy of power that had nearly overtaken her the day before, but her eyes were sad as she bid each of them an individual farewell. Sam was the last that she came to, and he could barely meet her ageless, searching eyes. 

"Samwise of the Shire." Her voice was gentle, but the force of the words it carried was like a storm wind. "You are the crux of this journey. It is upon you that its success hinges. You carry a terrible weight upon you, and it shall grow heavier every step you take towards Mordor." 

"Just like Frodo," he sighed, feeling his tears hot and close once more. Keeping himself from blinking, he raised his heavy, heavy head and looked her in the eyes. 

"Yes, just like Frodo. Only this time, he shall help you bear your burden...and he shall help you save what you long for most of all." 

"Anemosi!" The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He felt guilt spread its burning hand over the back of his neck; how could he forget Elanor at a time like this? 

Sutta Hooe seemed to sense his despair, and directed her next words at his pain. "Fear not, Master Samwise, for I have seen Elanor living long and happily in the Shire, and it is no dream. She will be saved, and by your hands. But indeed, it is for the Lady Radika that I fear: she is close to giving up, to giving in to the Shadow...and you must stop her before she does so. She despairs, and doubts the path that is set before her. She is powerful, but she is also weak. If she gives in, she hands us over to the Shadow. It is up to you to save her." 

"You talk about her as if she's evil," said Sam almost sullenly. "She's not. I know that."   
Sutta Hooe sighed. "Master Samwise, do not twist my words. She is flesh, just like you all, and prone to the same failures. She needs guidance to keep her from falling, and it is my belief that you were meant to come to her, to keep her in her proper place...and yes, to love her too." She smiled, and for an instant he could see the deep pressure of the ages lying upon her. It was over before he could fully understand what he had seen, and Sutta Hooe was speaking again. 

"Keep her safe, Master Samwise. You face much sorrow and toil, and you will pass through rock, fire, and water before you are finished. But I feel, in my deepest heart, that you are the one chosen to carry out this task, and that you, above all others, will succeed. I send the blessings of the Lady with you and your friends, and to those you seek. And to Lanal..." Her voice trailed away. "I send wishes of a quick and merciful death, for I have no interest in seeing the ruins left after you and Kerra finish with her." 

She moved away from him, and began to ascend the steps. All the others were already mounted and ready to ride, and had patiently waited for Sutta Hooe to say her final farewells. When Sutta Hooe had reached the top of the steps, she raised her hand in a fond, sad goodbye, and called out to each of them as they rode away. 

"Farewell, Masters Pippin and Merry! Take care not to stuff yourselves, for the food is rich and a little will do quite well. Goodbye, Master Frodo! I will pray that your second journey to Mordor is not quite so devastating to you as the first. And farewell, Arthura and Master Samwise--may you both find what you are seeking!" Her voice faded away on the wind, but she waved until she could see them no more. Then, wiping her tears away on the sleeve of her robe, she turned slowly, as if she was a very old woman, and walked painfully back into her House.   



	11. Into Molasba Forest

"Arthura?" asked Sam. It was the first time any of them had spoken for some time, too overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Sutta Hooe had said to each of them before they left. "Why'd she call you that, Kerra?"   
  
Kerra was riding at the head of the party, straight-backed and unblinking. "Arthura is my name in the Common Tongue. The Lady of Rainwall knew me first by that name, and so she prefers to use it when not within the forest of Ré-Nancet." Her voice, always low and soft, was quieter than usual and her eyes flitted from side to side. 

No one said anything more for a long time, concentrating on their own distracted thoughts. The land they were riding over slowly became flatter, and as they crested the last hill a forest suddenly loomed into their vision. It was huge and dark, and that was were their path was leading. Kerra silently rode on towards the forest with the hobbits trailing close behind her, but even her fierce presence was not enough to keep away the fear that they all felt as they entered the forest. They had not traveled for long when they reached a fork in the path, the two new trails branching off into the deep, heavy darkness. 

"Which way now?" said Frodo, glancing around worriedly. The forest was dark and heavy, not unlike the forest of Mirkwood, but there was something in the air that grated against his throat as he breathed. It was a harsh, metallic sensation, as if blood had been boiled and the steam left to escape into the air. The forest looked as if, in spite of its eager lushness, it was in pain, the trees straining to put forth fruit and leaves to hide their suffering.The huge, almost-human forms of limb and branch and trunk were unnerving; they were too close to the travelers' own bodies to be written off as freaks of nature. 

Kerra, signaling for her four companions to be silent, swung soundlessly off her mount and landed in a crouch. She inhaled deeply of the tainted air, and exhaled in a slow, smooth stream that gradually became visible as it gathered in a spiral before her. It seemed to be made of iridescent scales, frail and glittering, and with a sharp slashing gesture from Kerra's right hand, it sped away, spreading itself whisper-thin as it flew into the trees. The whole experience was silent, but it seemed so familiar to the four hobbits that they knew, if they only had time to think, they would remember where they had seen this before. It was the taste, the tickling deep in the back of their throats, that they always felt when fey magic was used around them. 

The spinning tendrils were flying back, twining around Kerra's face and weaving themselves through her hair, twisting in circles near her ears. There was a subtle sort of communication going on that the four hobbits were not privy to; they had to wait until Kerra relayed whatever information she chose to them. 

Her eyes flew open, a flash of fear glinting in the blue of her irises before fleeing away. She grimaced and turned back to her companions. 

"We must go through the forest," she said in a hoarse whisper. "These trails are no longer safe; Lanal has taken both of the passes out of the forest, and I will not risk being caught so early in our journey. I like this idea even less than you, for I know what lurks here, but it is the only way. And no, Master Pippin--there is no other way. To turn back would be to risk capture once more, and even Lanal fears what sleeps in the Molasba Forest." Without a look at any of them, she gracefully leapt back into the saddle and rode straight into the forest. 

Sam tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as he gazed into the forest. Kerra was trying to force her way through the heavy undergrowth, but it was slow going even though she was using her twin swords to slash through the bush. The four hobbits watched her in silence until she turned around, soaking in sweat although she had only gone a few paces. 

"Hurry up then! Time is of the essence!" She turned back to her labors, hacking away to clear a path for those behind her. They followed reluctantly, panting as they had to shove aside thick plant life. Hours seemed to pass as they struggled through the forest with no visible change in the light to tell them whether or not time had passed in the outside world. 

The forest was a place of discontent; though they could never catch movement as it happened, the whole forest was shifting and changing: a tree they thought they could lead off of was suddenly gone when one blinked, or the ponies started at some small noise only they could hear. 

Molasba sapped all color from whatever was with its borders too, Sam noticed dully. Their clothes were reduced to an ashy grey, and even Kerra's hair looked flat and lifeless in the searing gloom. All was silence except for hard breathing and the occasional oath as a clinging vine had to be torn away from one's legs or those of one's mount. 

Again and again the hobbits forced themselves to the breaking point, drawing upon their last reserves of energy to keep up with Kerra, though the group moved at no more than a crawl. Finally, Kerra stopped and raised her hand. 

"We will rest here tonight. We can go no farther without risking collapse and foolish maneuvers." She tied her pony's reins to a nearby tree and unloaded her mount of its supplies. Even the ponies deserved a rest. The four hobbits followed her lead dully, throwing down blankets and and food bundles in a rush to get to sleep as soon as they could. They would have fallen straight to sleep but for Kerra insisting that they eat before they rested. They fed the ponies first, then themselves, and after Kerra claimed the first watch, the four hobbits dropped into restless sleep. 

Sam awoke sluggishly the next morning, with no welcoming sunlight making it through the thick foliage above him. The bloody smell was stronger than ever, making him gag with its rich, fruity scent. He looked up slowly and saw that all the others were still asleep. Even Kerra had dozed off, her swords crossed in her lap; although this was most unusual, it was not that sight that made Sam cry out. 

His voice awoke all the others; he was shouting unintelligibly, his voice shrill with fear. Kerra awoke swiftly , her pupils dilating as they rested upon the horrors before them. Without a word, she reared up from where she had been sitting and leapt to Sam's side. She clapped a rough hand over his mouth to stop the flow of noise before it could alert any enemies that might still be lurking nearby. Sam's senses had been right; the bloody smell was stronger, and for a good reason. 

Sometime during the time when the group had been resting, the ponies, poor creatures, had been slaughtered where they stood. The animals had been eviscerated, with intestines and bowels looped over low-hanging branches, and blood smeared everywhere, even within the bundles of food. There were words in the Common Tongue carved in the largest tree in the vicinity:   
  
"You have been warned."   



	12. Interlude

DISCLAIMER: Tolkien is my hero. I am nothing to him.   
A/N:Thank you guys for reading this! I hope you like it as much as my first LOTR fic! And to those of you that have reviewed--THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! You're what keeps me writing! You guys rock!! 

*********** 

Sam collapsed against a tree, soaked in sweat and feeling dirtier than he ever had before in his life. They had been forcing their way through the forest for seven days since they had awaken to find their ponies slaughtered and their food supply destroyed. They had subsisted on barely a mouthful of water a day and whatever roots and leaves that Kerra and Sam mutually decided were safe for consumption. It had been a hard hike, slashing through the brush that seemed to be trying to ensnare them constantly, and they forced themselves on at a starvation pace in the hopes that they could reach the edge of the forest before what little water they had left ran out.   
  
Hope was fading fast. 

He silently volunteered for the first watch. All talking had stopped after the desperate race through the Molasba Forest had began, with all communication deteriorating into hand signals. Merry and Pippin curled up near each other to ward off the chill of the Molasba nights as Kerra and Frodo quietly swept the small grove they were hiding in for anything that would hint at an enemy presence. When that small duty was over, they too lay down for rest, and were asleep almost instantly. 

Sam was left alone in the vapid semidarkness within the grove, with only his thoughts for company, which soon turned bleak and despairing as he realized the depth of the danger they were in. Even if they did escape the Molasba Forest, what was to say that Lanal's forces would not be waiting for them? Who had told them that this foolhardy mission would ever work? For all they knew, they were racing forward only to join their loved ones in death. 

His eyes fell on Frodo as the dark-haired hobbit was sleeping and his thoughts turned to wonder at Frodo's devotion to him in his time of need. So many believed that only Sam's half of the relationship was of the sacrificing type, but all Sam had to do was look at Frodo to know that nothing could be farther from the truth. Frodo had left the comfort and peace of the Undying Lands to help Sam and Kerra in their journey, with no possible gain for himself; he had done it simply because of his love for Sam. 

Love...there it was again, working its elusive magic on his tattered heart. Thinking back to their first journey over the blasted land of Mordor, Sam could see, with no arrogance, that he had been the one to support Frodo through those dark, ashy days of hell; now, it seemed, that Frodo was returning the good deed. But at what cost? Would he lose those nearest to him to that bitch in Mordor? 

That hideous thought brought Anemosi's face up hot and close in his mind. Already it seemed as if another seventy years had passed since he had seen her, or held her...and it was unbearable. They had had so little time together, and now they were separated again, possibly forever. It had been bad enough before, not knowing if she had been slaughtered as soon as she had closed the door, but to have to wonder again if she was crying out for him, or if she was already gone, or if she had somehow given in... 

No! That did not bear thinking about. His thoughts were in a whirl, flashes of agony and despair and worry and exhaustion sparking in his brain as visions of Elanor, of Merrie, of Frodo, of Kerra, of Anemosi fled across his eyesight. In desperation, he sent out a wailing prayer to the Lady of the Fey, hoping that she would aid him as she had so often aided Anemosi in the past. 

Lady, he prayed, I know I'm not one of your folk, but I can't see as there's anyone else that can help us. Anemosi...his mind choked at even the thought of her name, but he swallowed hard and went on. 

Lady, my Anemosi always believed in you. She always said that you'd never do anything without a reason, and that you were kind, and that you loved your folk. And maybe...I thought that maybe, because we both love her, you'll help me. 

Almost before he had finished his thought, it was as if a huge hand had wiped his mind clean and empty. He would have been terrified if his thoughts had been his own, and he was vaguely conscious, more in his body than in his mind, of how Anemosi must have felt when the Lady spoke to her. He did not hear the voice in his head so much as he saw it, a myriad display of color and shapes and speed that he could barely remember when it was over, much less describe. 

Samwise Gamgee of the Shire, said the voice in his head. I hear, and I answer. Do you not think that I have been watching you through your quest? I will guide you in your time of need. 

Thank you, he moaned inwardly. He was out of control, falling into a dry abyss, when the voice of the Lady spoke again. 

I forget, Samwise, that you are not used to my voice. You should be aware of my power...you have seen it before. 

Then the voice seemed to change tone, and it became gentle and caressing. 

I am glad you called to me, it said kindly. You have suffered much, and still stayed true to the cause, as painful as it may have been. I will reward you for your selflessness. 

There's no need to do that--he thought before the voice interrupted him in a shower of sparks. 

Do not reject my gift, Samwise. I offer it freely; any other would have to work for it. 

Aye, he thought, chastised. 

Sleep now, Samwise. I shall be guarding you tonight. 

His eyes slammed shut with a will of their own. Before he could grow fearful or worried, he was deep in sleep, a slumber filled with the sound of rushing rain and a low, thrumming hum. 

I give you, said the voice as it faded away, perfect beauty. 

The darkness in his mind was clearing, shapes were forming out of the blank space. He was lost in wonderment as a soothing warmth crept into his body, sweeping away pains that he had long grown used to. Sam seemed to open his mind on a rainy day in a lush garden, redolent with scent and color. It was so familiar to his astonished brain, but he could barely believe it when he realized just what this garden was. 

Bless me, it's Siobhangé! 

All the beautiful days of roses and sun and warmth were flowing back, a river of joy that flowed through and around him. He looked around, scarcely aware that he was sleeping and not really in the garden, and his eyes moved joyfully from rosebush to rosebush. He remembered the hours he had spent here with Anemosi--how could he forget them? They were as dear to him as his own heart, or hands. In that garden, he had not been just a gardener, and she had not been just the Lady Radika; they had only been themselves, without any extraneous matter to clutter up their essences. Together, they had been complete, and time was reduced to a dry, impotent idea that had no meaning. 

How could the Lady of the Fey have known how deeply he longed for that time? He could only breathe a silent prayer of thanks that she had discerned his most passionate desire. 

In the dream, he walked through the sweet rain towards the rosebushes. They had thorns, but even the sharpest edges could not prick his hands as he pulled the branches apart, wondering at what may lay in its depths. What precious treasure were those thorns protecting? 

Sam's gaze seemed to fall forever into the darkness at the center of the rosebush before a glimmer of silver appeared. It deepened, widened, glowed, and he realized that he had always known what lay at the center of the garden. 

Sam nearly cried out as Anemosi, laying prone on her back, opened her eyes into the rain that fell past him. The raindrops sprinkled her skin like a careless shower of diamonds, and she smiled, oh, how she smiled, and reached out her arms to him, forever yearning, forever seeking. His hands met her, and suddenly she was in his arms, the thorns and rain forgotten, and he was kissing her as he had never done before. He was beginning to believe, in spite of himself, to believe that he was truly in the gardens of Siobhangé, and that he was truly kissing Anemosi, when he felt her body melting away against him. Already she was as insubstantial as the rain, and in a breathe she had vanished on the wind, her roses and her thorns accompanying her into the dream-world from which she had come. 

He started awake back in the eerie world of the Molasba Forest. His four companions were still sleeping, but his heart was pounding hard in his chest, and sweat was covering his body in a cooling layer. Sam felt a vague shiver run through his body as the Lady withdrew herself completely from his mind, leaving him alone in his own body once more. Her message and her command, however, were clear as mountain air, and Sam was strengthened. His dream, achingly painful as it was to recall it, was one he would treasure for the rest of his days. 

Far, far away, Anemosi was jarred awake. Her breath came short in her throat, and for a moment Brule thought she was foreseeing another of Lanal's attacks, but that was not the case. For Anemosi, though too far away to know it, had dreamed the same dream.   
  
  
  



	13. Emyn Muil

"This forest is leaking magic," murmured Kerra as she awoke. It tainted the air like wine spilled on a white tapestry. It was getting harder for her to breathe, and her own potent magic was growing weaker. Perhaps weakening was not the best name for what was happening to her: she remained as strong and vital as ever, but the magic of the forest itself was growing stronger. She would be able to hold up much longer.   
  
"What's that, Kerra?" asked Merry. 

"Nothing, just mumbling." She was secretly envious that the hobbits seemed unaffected by the magic; the only exhaustion they had to deal with with a physical kind. She brushed the leaves from her stained gown and tried to ignore how stiff her muscles were. "Can you pass me the water, Merry?" 

"It's out," grumbled Merry, with an angry look directed at Pippin, who was tucking the canteen into his knapsack. Pippin looked down, staring at the bottle, then his eyes widened and he yanked the canteen out. He shook it, and gasped loudly. 

"What is it?" whispered Frodo, eyes wide with fear. 

"Look!" Pippin held out the water canteen in a shaking hand. "I drank the last of this yesterday-you know I did, Merry, you yelled at me for it--and it's full again! Full!" He threw it to the ground and stared at it as if it would start speaking in Elvish next. 

Kerra picked it up delicately and sniffed the water inside. It smelled clean, but she opened her mouth and let a few drops fall in. It tasted just as it had smelled: clean, fresh, and pure. 

"It's fine," she said, her voice tinted with wonder. "The water is fine." 

Sam stared at the ground. Thank you, Lady, he thought. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard a voice in the back of his head. 

"You are welcome," it said before fading away. 

************* 

Strange noises abounded in Emyn Muil. Sixty years of healing had barely touched the surface of the devastation that Sauron had wreaked upon it. The rocks were still sharp enough to draw blood from even the toughest hobbit foot; the air was still heavy and clammy with evil. 

Sam was on the first watch. The horrors lurking in the Molasba Forest, only left behind three days ago, were still nothing to the nightmares that dwelt here. How he hated this place! Its memory was all too fresh in his mind; stumbling through the ruined and blasted land, trying to keep Frodo from collapsing under the weight of a burden he was never meant to carry. Now, they had returned to this blackened hell, to fight their way across the landscape and hope, that, like the first time, they could reach Mordor unscathed. 

Behind him, Frodo moaned in his sleep. Even the small noise was enough to wake Kerra, who moved from sleep to waking with a swift opening of her eyes. Seeing Sam crouched upon a rock ahead of her, she crept up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, glad to be relieved even though his shift wasn't quite over, and slowly retreated back to his bedding. He passed into a fitful sleep that was soon interrupted when a small noise near his ear jerked him awake. 

Kerra didn't seem to have heard it, but when the rustle came again, Sam had his sword already clasped in a sweaty hand. 

Silence reigned for a moment, and Sam relaxed, thinking it had all been a product of his sleep-deprived mind, when the rustle came again, so close he could hear it breathing, and he stabbed out with his sword in an ecstasy of pure fear. 

The point of the blade connected with flesh, pierced and divided it. There was a stifled gurgling cry that awoke Frodo and brought Kerra running with a torch. Sam pulled his sword out of his victim to find the blade glittering with pale blood in the light from Kerra's torch. His eyes flew to his victim, who lay gasping on the ground and clutching their shoulder. The stranger was grimy, almost unrecognizable under the filth, but the eyes were unmistakable. 

"Anemosi!" Sam fell to his knees and gathered her in, his mind whirling in a confusion of joy, fear, and relief. he tried and failed to ignore the fact that he had stabbed her in the same place that the Nazgul had stabbed Frodo all those years before. 

He was weeping, he realized a few minutes later, and so was she, her tears washing clean spots in the grime on her cheeks. Heedless of anything except the paralyzing joy of having her back in his arms, Sam kissed her again and again and held her more and more tightly until she cried out in pain. He released her gently, smoothing her matted hair away from her face. 

"Oh Anemosi, what's happened to you? How did you get out?" Before she could answer, he was kissing her again, unable to help himself. 

"Sam, please!" Kerra, astonished and close to tears herself, had placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sam, let her speak." Frodo was standing slack-jawed between a just-awakened Merry and Pippin, completely awestruck at her sudden return. 

Reluctantly, Sam released her. Anemosi's hand moved almost immediately to her shoulder, where the wound from Sam's sword was still trickling silverish blood. 

"Oh, Anemosi! I'm sorry!" Sam gasped. "I didn't know!" 

"It's all right, Sam," she whispered as Kerra tore a strip of cloth from her gown and wrapped it around the wound. She took Kerra's hand, and squeezed it tightly. 

"I should have known you'd come...all of you..." She smiled weakly at those gathered before her. "I should never have doubted that you would come for us..." She shuddered, and rubbed her wrists. 

A sudden noise behind Frodo made him jump up, sword drawn. He slashed out, and a gasp from the dark made him stab out again. 

"Frodo!" Anemosi cried out. "Frodo, no! Stop!" She clambered clumsily to her feet, all grace deserted in the need for fast action, and staggered in front of Frodo. He paused, knowing he should shove her aside before whatever was lurking in the darkness attacked, but she stood firm. 

Out of the darkness appeared a lanky form, all sinew and huge, bewildered eyes. It scuttled up behind Anemosi on all fours, and suddenly stood up to place a long three-fingered hand on her shoulder. Sam, thinking the beast was about to steal Anemosi away from him, cried out and stabbed at it with his sword. Anemosi struck the flat of the blade with her hand, knocking it away. 

"Just stop! Please, don't hurt him." She placed her own small hand over the creature's. "This is Brule--he saved my life." 

Sam and Kerra looked barely convinced, and even Frodo still had his sword out, so Anemosi turned to Brule and whispered to him. 

"I think you'd better go small, Brule." 

The creature blinked slowly at her. "But, lady, that's the one as hurt ye--don't ye want me ter stay big t'keep ye safe?" 

Anemosi smiled at him. "It's all right, Brule--he didn't know. Besides, he's my Sam, so I know I'm all right." 

Brule frowned, but argued no further. In a breath, Brule had shrunk to the size of a small cat, and had clambered protectively up on to Anemosi, where he rested his head on her shoulder. A long tail wrapped around her waist, previously unnoticed, and for the first time, they saw that his skin was slightly iridescent, even in the gloom. 

Anemosi looked up at Sam and smiled. 

"Kerra, Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin...I'd like you to meet Brule. I think he'll be staying with us for a while." 

"What is this...Brule, exactly?" asked Kerra, not even trying to keep her skepticism out of her voice. 

"He doesn't remember what he is," answered Anemosi. "But he's very old, aren't you, Brule?" In response, Brule burrowed his head into Anemosi's neck, making a noise somewhere between a chitter and a purr. 

Sam, for the first time he could remember, felt a cold stab of jealousy. that was his Anemosi, and no one, especially not some grimy little filth-eater, was going to touch her like that while he was around. 

Before he could step forward to remove the creature, Brule had let out a small noise of alarm and leapt down from Anemosi's shoulder to disappear into the darkness. A low rumble, sounding as if it came from far away, followed his departure. Anemosi froze, her eyes wide and terrorized, her whole body tense. 

"She knows..." Anemosi whispered. "She knows you're here! Oh, Sweet Lady, help us now!" 

The rumble came closer, making the hair on the backs of their necks stand straight up. It was the sound of ancient machinery, the kind that was better left alone and in darkness, far away from the world of the living. It was the kind of sound that seemed as if it came from a blending of other noises: the sound of flowing water, far-off screams, and the low, quiet weeping of utter despair. 

Anemosi moaned and clutched her hands to her ears. "It hurts, it hurts..." she said. The movement of her arms dislodged the makeshift bandage on her wound, and the gash began to bleed afresh. "Make it stop!" she screamed as the noise grew louder. 

The rest of the group was frozen to the ground, unable to do anything but listen as the rumble grew close enough to vibrate the air around them. Anemosi's screams had faded away into sobs as she fell to the ground, shivering. Sam was powerless to move to her aid, and could only listen to her voice swoop upwards into a blood-boiling shriek as the rocks before them exploded. 

Something crawled out, supperating and noxious and a thousand different kinds of foul. It was a rolling nightmare, a monster of vast geometries that had no right existing in any world that was ever graced by sunlight. It had no eyes that Sam could see, no features at all except for a huge mouth that opened wide and roared into the deep night. Beside such an agony of sound, Anemosi's cries were lost. 

The creature pulled itself out of its hole, the sharp edges of the rocks cutting into the tough flesh and releasing a putrid smell that made the air shrivel inside their lungs. It sniffed the air once, and turned its heavy blind head in their direction 

Kerra sucked in a breath and blew it out as an expletive as the creature lifted a monstrous paw and began to waddle towards them. She caught a glimpse of its underbelly, and the sight of the ponderous sacks of venom hanging there nearly made her sick. 

"You know," said Merry in a voice of such calmness that it was only a matter of time before he broke out into hysterical screams. "It might be a good idea if one of us came up with a plan." 

Sam couldn't have agreed more. His attentions, however, were occupied with gathering Anemosi off the ground and heaving her into a standing position. She was weeping helplessly, mumbling like a lunatic as the creature inexorably advanced, and her body felt oddly loose and weak in his arms. She would not be able to run on her own power; she would have to depend on his strength to get anywhere. 

"I have an idea," announced Kerra, her eyes never leaving the creature. 

"And it is?" asked Pippin, anxiously awaiting the brilliant plan that she would undoubtedly have in mind. 

"RUN!" 

And they did. They grabbed whatever supplies were in reach, leaving the rest behind and diving into the blackness. Strong as he was, Sam soon fell behind as Anemosi's fading strength left her completely. He was, essentially, carrying a dead weight. 

He stumbled over a particularly sharp rock and fell heavily to the ground. Anemosi tumbled from his arms and lay still a few feet away from him, not making a sound to even hint that she was still alive. He scrambled over to her, hoping that the mist would hide them for the few moments it would take for him to recover, but without warning he felt a cold, poisonous wind blowing across his back. 

He threw his body over Anemosi's, praying that he could protect her for as long as he was alive, and turned to face the monster. 

Blind it may have been, but it did its mistress's bidding. And it was her voice, not the primal roar from earlier, that came from its maw. 

"I see you! You cannot hide from me!" The mouth opened wider than any bone structure could have allowed, and Sam was contemplating his death between the rotting fangs when a spear flew out of the mist and lodged itself deep within the monster's throat. 

Making a gurgling scream that seemed mixed of Lanal's voice and its own, the creature fell forward to the earth. The sacks on its belly burst, leaking forth a gassy, over-ripe liquid that boiled on the rocky ground. Sam looked around, gasping for breath in the rancid air, and saw a tall form coming towards him out of the mist. 

"Are you Samwise Gamgee?" asked a slow, sonorous female voice. The figure was huge, as tall as a tree, and built in the same fashion. 

"I am," whispered Sam, scarcely caring that he could be placing himself in just as much or more danger than before. 

"Hem! Good, good. Much too hasty with your name, little fellow, just like all the others like you that just ran into me. Hem, hem! Better gather your friend up, and let me carry you both. We can move faster that way. Hem! Come along now, little hobbit!" 

He found himself scooped up in a huge pair of rough hands that handled both him and the limp Anemosi with astonishing gentleness. He smelled tree bark, and a flash of realization leapt into his brain. 

"You're an Ent!" he gasped. 

"Hem! Not quite, little hobbit. But close! You were much too hasty with your guess, that's why you were wrong, hem! I'm an Entwife, and my name is Fimbrethil." 

************* 

NOTE: The Entwives, for those of you who don't remember or who haven't read the books, are the female versions of the Ents. They were "lost" according to Treebeard, and have not been seen by the Ents for many, many years. I decided to create my own story about what happened to them. FImbrethil was mentioned in The Two Towers by Treebeard as an Entwife of astonishing beauty. Enjoy. 


End file.
